


Beware the Faerie Food You Eat

by Those_Interrupted



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Name Changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Those_Interrupted/pseuds/Those_Interrupted
Summary: Title shamelessly stolen from the amazing game of the same name by Astrid Dalmady.Ellen stopped believing in fairy tales when she was a child, but her faith in a rational world is challenged when she's forced to navigate the Courts of the fair folk in order to earn her cousin's safe return to Earth. Ellen knows the tales, but knowledge alone cannot protect her. If she isn't careful, she'll not only damn herself and those that she loves, but her actions threaten to tip the balance in the war of the Courts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the long hiatus! I've had a lot going on in my personal life which takes precedence over writing, and, when I do have time and energy for writing, I'm prioritizing original works. This was written as a gift for my girlfriend for her birthday back in November. I figured I'd post it to try to get back in the swing of sharing my writing online.
> 
> Please be aware that this work contains swearing, disturbing imagery, and graphic violence. This story is a retelling of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe relying on modern characters and mythology about the fair folk. It does get dark. That said, the darkest segment, the ritual murder and subsequent revival of the Queen of Summer, is not posted here for the purpose of keeping this within a teen rating.

Her younger cousin finds it first, and none of them believe her. Lydia always was a bit prone to tall tales. It serves her well as a budding writer, but it doesn’t exactly lend credibility to her claims that there’s a secret world hidden between two hawthorn trees in the forest behind their new apartment. Not much could; not for David, political science major, soccer star, and sworn member of the fellowship of Christian athletes; not for Ethan, with his love for physics and obsessive need to make sense of everything; and certainly not for Ellen. Ellen, who has only one more year as a premed. Ellen, who has to study for her MCAT. Ellen, who hasn’t had time for make believe since she was 17 and reading _The Hobbit_ one last time before she lost the leisure necessary for novels.

Lydia, who must spend half her waking day dreaming, doesn’t care in the slightest.

“It’s true!” she insists, blocking the door to their apartment and glaring at Ethan as if she can trap the much larger man by sheer force of will. “I met a faun, and we had tea.”

Ethan meets her eyes with an expression of mixed pity and exasperation. “Even if portals to other worlds were possible— which they aren’t— that doesn’t make sense. I’m pretty sure that fauns aren’t associated with snow, and if you really believed that you were in the company of a fair—er, one of the fair folk, why would you have accepted any food from them? Isn’t that supposed to be bad luck? You just dozed off for a bit and had a very vivid dream.”

“I wasn’t asleep! And I told you, it was only winter because the Queen of Winter is pushing farther into Seelie territory. Mr. Tumnus didn’t choose to live somewhere snowy; he only stays there because he has nowhere else to go and is afraid of attracting the queen’s wrath. And it’s not bad luck, it just risks you being trapped in the fae realm. I wouldn’t mind that.” Abruptly, she whirls towards Ellen. “You believe me, right Ells?”

 _Shit_. “Lydia, we’re all adults now…”

“So? A number means that you’re not allowed to believe in the fair folk anymore? Come on, you used to be obsessed with them—”

“When I was a kid!” Her face is burning, and she can see David biting back a snicker. _Jackass_. Why does Lydia always have to do this to her? God, she should have known rooming with her would be a terrible idea. More firmly, Ellen says: “Listen, Lydia. What you’re describing just isn’t possible. I’m sorry, but it isn’t. The fair folk are an interesting myth, but we all have more important things to be focusing on than myths. Don’t you have a paper to write?”

“It’s _on_ myths, thank you very much. And no, that’s not why I _dreamed_ about meeting a faun! I didn’t dream anything!” Lydia shakes her head in frustration. “Listen, Ellen, please. Will you at least go back out there with me and check it?”

“If there’s a portal just sitting there in the forest, why aren’t people wandering through it all the time?” David wonders.

“Because it’s hidden by the patch of poison oak… Oh, Ellen, don’t make that face, there’s a route around it—!”

David pushes past her with a snort, Ethan retreats to the kitchen to make coffee, and Ellen returns to her books. It’s almost slipped their minds by the end of the day, and despite Lydia’s best efforts, less than a week later, the rest of them barely remember it at all. A month later, the discussion might as well have never occurred. Midterms are approaching, and even Lydia can’t afford too many distractions. As long as each day seems, it denies adequate time for the increasing amounts of work that their professors seem to delight in piling upon them. In his spare time, David turns to prayer. Ethan seems to be living off of coffee, ramen, and cold pizza from the undergraduate TA office. Ellen begins substituting polite social phrases for equations without noticing. As for Lydia, her aggressive cheer becomes more desperate by the hour until one day, after returning to their apartment from a particularly grueling literature exam, she breaks down into tears over her burnt attempt at scrambled eggs and can’t be consoled.

“I fail at everything! Even the stove! I can’t even make scrambled eggs with the stove!”

“You made eggs fine last week! Really, Lydia, think about it. At least you can make eggs. I don’t think Ethan even knows how to turn on the stove.”

Ethan half heartedly throws an eraser at David, but Lydia doesn’t even crack a smile. Ellen eases down into the chair beside her and awkwardly tries to rub her back. She vaguely remembers Aunt Carole doing that when either of them would get upset as a kid, but she can’t remember if it actually helped anything. It doesn’t seem to be helping much now, even if the tears are slowing. How could it? Back rubs don’t fix fears of failed grades.

“Listen,” Ellen finally sighs, hating the words even as she speaks them. “It’s a Friday night, and we could all use a break. Why don’t you come watch a movie with us – or with me, if, ah—”

“With us,” David says firmly. “I’ll make hot chocolate, and it’ll be just like old times. We can pretend we’re all awkward freshman again. I’ll even take up all the couch space so that Ethan has to sit on the floor.”

“No you won’t, and for that comment, I’m picking the movie.”

“No documentaries,” Lydia says. Her voice is thin and her smile is watery, but when she wipes the remaining tears from her eyes, she almost looks alright. Her roommates enthusiastically agree to this, and they all make their way over to the TV. “One movie” turns into a _Breaking Bad_ marathon, and it’s past midnight when they all start calling it a night. Ellen stays out just a bit longer than the others, debating whether or not she should go against her own suggestion and try to sneak in a bit more studying. A single chapter review for Organic Chemistry II couldn’t hurt, and it’s not like she isn’t used to long nights.

A banging noise disrupts her thoughts. A moment later, Lydia’s door opens, and Ellen scrambles up in alarm.

“Lydia, are you alright?”

There’s no answer. Lydia’s expression is almost blank as she reaches the apartment door, and Ellen realizes that she must be sleepwalking.

“Lydia, why don’t you come back to bed,” Ellen says as loudly as she dares, not wanting to wake up Ethan or David but hoping to break through to her cousin. Almost immediately, she begins doubting her choice. “Shit! Don’t—” She quickly slides into her tennis shoes, silently grateful that she’s still dressed, and follows Lydia into the hallway. She quickly catches up to her and grabs her arm, but Lydia shakes her off and darts halfway down the stairs before Ellen has even regained her balance. Ellen spares only a moment for shock before darting after her.

“Lydia!” She shouts, throwing all desires for privacy to the wind, but although a few confused students open their doors to see what the commotion’s about, Lydia doesn’t acknowledge Ellen at all. What’s more, she doesn’t slow down. By the time that Ellen exits the complex, Lydia is almost at the edge of the woods. Ellen breaks into a sprint, but Lydia’s form melts into the shadows cast by the trees before her.

Scrambling, Ellen pulls out her phone and turns on its flashlight. She’s never liked nature as much as Lydia always did, and the stillness of the forest at night unnerves her. Maybe this isn’t the right choice. Maybe she should call for help. Maybe she’s worrying too much. The forest is intersected by a wall at the border of campus, so it’s not like Lydia can wander off too far. If she fell and hurt herself, that would wake her up, right? But she was already in her pajamas and wouldn’t have her phone with her. If she was seriously hurt, would she be able to get help in time? What if there are drunk guys hanging around, and they find her first?

How big are these woods? Ellen realizes that if she’s not careful, she could easily get turned around and end up in one of the situations she fears for Lydia. She doesn’t come back here much, and she’s unfamiliar with any paths that the forest has. Even with the light from her phone, she’d be ill prepared to dodge protruding roots, sharp thorns, or other hazards. Shaking her head, Ellen forces herself to stop and listen. Lydia shouldn’t be able to see at all, so even if she does have an actual trail memorized, she’s likely to make at least some noise traversing it, especially once she wakes up more. However, the night is almost silent. Ellen can only pick up the faintest stirrings of… music?

Her feet carry her closer before she’s aware of herself. Yes, it’s definitely music. It sounds like it might be coming from a flute, maybe, or a harp. Is there some kind of pagan band practicing, or is Ellen about to accidentally crash someone’s idea of a romantic date? Because if that’s what’s causing the music, Ellen will crash it. She’s still walking towards the source, justifying to herself that Lydia likely did the same. It isn’t until she reaches a small clearing, notable only for the two hawthorn trees within it, that she understands that Lydia would have come here anyway.

It’s so much easier to believe impossible things under the light of the full moon, especially when moonlight hits the space between two trees in such a way as to almost cause a visual distortion. Ellen’s palms suddenly feel damp, and her heart pounds in her chest. _What am I so afraid of_? She asks herself. _Lydia’s probably right past those_. _Just walk around them and keep going, and you’ll find her_. But part of her bristles at that. Why should she walk around the trees? Why is she reluctant to go between them? They’re just trees. She doesn’t really believe in this portal nonsense, does she?

Of course she doesn’t. Ellen shakes her head resolutely, ignoring how she uses that motion to procrastinate just a few seconds more before slowly walking forwards. Almost involuntarily, she pauses before the actual gap. _Deep breath_ , she commands herself, and then she breathes and steps forward—

– into snow. She freezes, mind reeling. _What the—_

Turning back around is no help. There are two hawthorns behind her, but they show only a shimmery path to more snowy forest. Around them is snowy forest. In every direction is snowy forest. Now panicking, Ellen jumps backward, back into her own familiar forest.

 _Oh my god_. _What the fuck. Oh my god, what the fuck!_ Her teeth cut into her lower lip as she bites back a scream. Stepping forwards does nothing to dispel her fear; again, the world melts around her into a white blanket of snow and ice.

_Lydia! Oh god, Lydia is in here somewhere. I’ll never be able to convince the police to help look for her here. What if the portal is only open at certain times? What if – oh god, the music was for her, it was calling for her, what if she really is trapped here now, I’m not a hero, I don’t remember the stories well enough, I won’t be able to earn her back, what if I get trapped here too—_

_The music!_ Ellen strains her ears for it, but it seems to have stopped. She’s not sure if it meant only to lure Lydia back here or if her cousin has already reached a more specific destination. Either way, how could Ellen possibly find her?

Waves of nausea hit hard, and Ellen falls to her knees in despair. _Oh god, oh god… this is a nightmare, it has to be. This is just a nightmare. It feels real, it feels too real to be a dream, but it can’t be real. It’s a prank, or I’ve been drugged, or the stress has me hallucinating, this can’t be real, it just can’t!_

If it’s a dream, it’s not one she can wake up from, and she’s brutally reminded of this by the snow seeping through her jeans. She’s not dressed for winter. She’s never seen such a white winter in her life. The cold drives her back to her feet, and Ellen takes several deep breaths, trying to ignore the way the air pierces her lungs. She has to approach this logically. This can’t be real, but if it’s not real, then what’s the harm in looking for Lydia? It could by symbolic. Didn’t her intro psych class say something about meeting goals in dreams? And if this isn’t a dream, if it is somehow real… she doesn’t want to think about it, but the wind is harsh, and she can’t stay here for much longer without risking hypothermia. Lydia, in her thin cotton nightgown, must have even less time.

Seeing no other choice, Ellen picks the closest thing to a path that she can see and begins walking. She tries to move quickly to preserve heat, but it can’t be minutes before her legs are growing numb. Her breath hangs before her, and her teeth are chattering forcefully enough to hurt. Dreading what she’ll find, she uncurls her right hand from around her phone and drags it out of her pocket. Her fingers aren’t white, not yet, but their shade of blue is disturbing. If she can’t get warm soon, she’ll have to turn back.

 _It might already be too late_ , part of her whispers, and Ellen tries to shove her fear back down. She hasn’t gone that far. Blue fingers aren’t good, but they do still have blood flow. One of her friends has secondary Raynaud’s; her fingers turn blue all of the time. Ellen’s joints still bend with only minor stiffness, and she doesn’t think that she’s that dazed. She must only have mild hypothermia at worst—

She’s rationalizing. She has to turn back. At this rate, she may even have to lose her jeans. The snow on them has iced over, and beyond impairing her movement, they’re contributing to her rapid heat loss. If she trusted her ability to make a fire, she’d try to burrow in one of the small caves up ahead and wait out the worst of the storm, but as things stand, she figures her best chance is to escape home. She can return with Ethan and David. They’ll have to believe her, and she’ll force them to follow her even if they don’t. They’ll find Lydia, and they’ll find a way to take her back with them, and they’ll all warm up back in their dorm and everything will be alright…

Somewhere to her left, a wolf cries out. Another sounds closer, and then a third. Ellen freezes. She should run. Right? Something about staying still tickles at her memory, but maybe that was for bears. Or snakes? Her thinking feels sluggish. Moderate hypothermia? _Fuck_.

The wolves, larger than any Ellen has ever seen, crash through the forest and circle around her. Absurdly, Ellen finds herself wondering if she could curl up with one of them like a dog. They look warm, certainly warmer than she is. Her laughter is ugly, and it leads to a nasty bought of coughing. Before she’s aware of herself, she’s on her knees again, arms tightly hugging her midsection. The shivering is getting bad now, and she can’t stop a sob of despair. For a moment, hopelessness blots out everything else.

When she notices that the wolves have all parted for a figure paused in front of her, it startles her badly enough to send her reeling backwards – now her shirt is wet, too, she distantly notes, but her attention is largely elsewhere. In front of her, the woman is eyeing her just as intensely, though her curiosity seems more muted. Ellen has caught her attention for now, but there’s no promise that she’ll keep it. A chill hits Ellen that has nothing to do with the slow freezing of her body. This woman might be her only chance of survival, but some small, instinctual part of her warns that keeping her attention is not a good idea.

 _I don’t have a choice_! Forcing her numb lips to form words, she manages to croak out, “please—“

She’s not sure what she’s begging for, but the woman must. A smile stretches across her lips, and a glimpse of her sharp teeth has Ellen pressing back even further. Then the woman’s arm is raised, warmth radiates through Ellen, and the relief is enough to banish her fear.

“Thank you,” she sighs, finally relaxing some of the tension from her muscles. On an impulse, she brings a hand back in front of her. To her relief, movement comes easily, and color is returning. She wiggles her toes to find the same. “Oh thank god…”

The woman laughs, and Ellen looks up, startled. Again, instinct tries to flare in warning, but something different has caught attention now.

The woman is _gorgeous_. It’s a harsh, alien beauty, but it pulls at Ellen all the more for it. The woman is tall, with skin so pale that it hurts to look at, as if it reflects the sun’s light. Her hair is long and as fine as silk, and her eyes are so dark and deep that Ellen feels as if she’s falling into them. The woman raises a hand to sweep a lock of hair away from her face, breaking the spell, and Ellen notices that her fingernails are curved and sharp. When she smiles, her teeth are sharper. Only her lips show any color, a deep stained red.

The lips curl, and Ellen’s brain seems to lag as she hears: “What is your name, child?”

She shakes herself and answers before her brain makes the final leap about why her answer – the fact that she answered at all – has made the strange woman look so pleased.

“ _Ellen_ ,” the woman murmurs as if tasting the name, and a shiver travels down Ellen’s spine. The pull that she felt towards the woman – the _fae_ , for that must be what she truly is – deepens, and it’s all that Ellen can take to remain kneeling in the snow before her. Then the reality of her position hits her like a brick, and she scrambles to her feet, red faced with shame and horror. The fae laughs, and the sudden sound of bells reminds Ellen why she’s here.

“Please, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“I did not take offense,” the fae answers smoothly, and Ellen fights to overcome the urge to get lost in her voice.

“My cousin!” She blurts. “My cousin got… she came here a month ago, and she got called back tonight. I came to retrieve her.”

The fae cocks her head to the side, at once sympathetic and cold. “Oh? And why did she get ‘called back?’”

Ellen closes her eyes to steady herself. “She admitted to taking tea with a faun, but… please, she’s my cousin. She—“ Ellen stops, sensing that giving excuses like _she was under a lot of stress_ or _she was going to be a writer_ won’t win her any favors. Instead, she tries: “I know that you traditionally offer quests to win back loved ones. Tell me the terms.”

The fae makes a noise in consideration, looking somewhere past Ellen. “A faun, you say?”

“Yes. A Mr. … Tums?”

“Tumnus. Interesting, how he failed to report this to me.” Her eyes turn back to search Ellen’s, and Ellen dares to hope.

“Come,” the fae says suddenly, already turning away, and Ellen tries not to trip over herself in following. The wolves stick closely by her side, and, now that she’s paying attention, she can sense eyes coming from the trees. She can’t suppress a shudder, and she’d swear that she hears mocking laughter. Ahead of her, the fae takes no notice. Until they reach her white mount, she spares no attention for Ellen at all.

“Do you ride?”

Ellen swallows hard. She’s ridden horses, but not for years, and never without a saddle. Sensing her ignorance, the fae frowns. Ellen tries to ignore how badly even the smallest display of displeasure upsets her.

“Rest beside it nonetheless.”

Ellen does as she’s told, and now the fae is circling her. Ellen feels no less like prey, but she tries to keep her breathing calm and deep. It occurs to her that they’ve left the path, and even if they hadn’t, she’d never be able to find her way back with fae calling her name from every direction. She’d swear that her breath catching is what finally causes the fae to again smile. God, she’s never been so enticed by open cruelty.

“You have given me valuable information, but not enough to win back your cousin.”

“What else do you wish to know?” The fae doesn’t respond. Cursing herself, Ellen begins to ramble. “Her name is Lydia. She only turned 21 in November. Her mother is my dad’s sister, and we grew up together. We live together now, in an apartment with two guys—” that seems to get the fae’s attention, so Ellen hurries on. “Their names are Ethan and David. We roomed together as freshman, and it seemed to make sense to stick together. Lydia told all of us about her visit with the faun after it first happened, but none of us believed her. Of course we didn’t, it—oh…”

“Few remember the tales,” the fae murmurs, and her eyes pierce Ellen.

“Lydia does. She wants to preserve them and study their historical context. She’s volunteered to direct plays about them before, and it’s hard to get her to shut up when she hears someone misrepresenting them or talking about fairies or Santa’s elves. She’s been obsessed since we were kids… I guess that she picked it up from me, though. I got a book of myths from my aunt, my dad’s sister, and I spent a lot of time pestering my mom for more books from the library. It was just a game we played with each other at first, but she—” Ellen stops herself before she can say _she never grew out of it_. Clearly, Lydia had the right idea.

Silence stretches, and Ellen’s nerves stretch thin with it. Finally, the fae slowly nods. Her eyes lock with Ellen’s, and from a pocket, she produces a cluster of bright berries.

“A fair trade. If you show your sincerity, I will release Lydia for you. You must return with all of your friends, but none will be forced to remain here.”

Instantly, Ellen’s guards are raised. “Then why do you want them?”

“I would like to meet them.” The fae’s eyes never stop burning into Ellen’s, and Ellen’s sure that they’ll haunt her dreams for weeks. They must have some deeper power over her because although Ellen knows that it can’t be this easy, she’s on the verge of agreeing.

“There’s more to it than that.” She’s reminding herself as much as she is accusing the fae, and the fae knows it.

“I may ask one of you to fight for me in battle, but for no longer than a week. None of you will lose your life in battle, and you will return to your world fully human.”

She should have realized this sooner, but: “you’re the Winter Queen.” A faint nod is her only answer, and Ellen’s eyes remain locked onto the queen’s throughout it.

Does Ellen want to be responsible for helping this creature to invade Seelie territory? Does she have a choice?

No, she finally admits, she doesn’t.

Only in forcing herself to look at the berries can she break the queen’s gaze, and then her eyes are just as hopelessly locked there. The berries are in her own hands before she’s aware of having moved, and a moment later, they’re gracing her lips. Internal alarms that she hadn’t even noticed are suddenly silenced. Maybe her brain is admitting that there’s no use trying to warn her of danger that she can’t avoid. Maybe even the deepest parts of her are unable to resist the lure of putting the fruit between her teeth and biting down.

It’s strange, she reflects. She wasn’t sure what she expected – mind numbing pleasure, to be made a mental zombie, to feel a shift as her free will is bound – but she almost doesn’t notice a difference. It’s only when the berries are gone and the craving sets in immediately, irresistibly, that she begins to realize what she’s done.

 _Lydia lived with this for over a month_ , she tries to tell herself, but it’s harder when the fae queen is still right there, smiling in a way that suggests that she knows exactly how Ellen is feeling. _Begging her for more would be very, very stupid_. But she can’t quite convince herself of it. Would being trapped here really be so bad? She remembers Lydia saying the same, that she’d eaten with the faun knowing fully what it would do to her. If she chose this, who is Ellen to try to force her away? Really, this must be Lydia’s dream. Even if it means fighting in a foreign war with no end…

 _That’s horrible_ , Ellen tells herself crossly. Then, more desperately: _stop it!_

“You are a strong one.” The queen circles closer, close enough to reach out and touch Ellen’s lips. Ellen’s legs tremble, but she refuses to fall for the third time in so short a span.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” she manages instead, and she’s rewarded with another rich laugh. Finally, belatedly, her instincts kick back on, and she knows that she needs to leave _now_. “I suppose I should be returning to my world now?” It’s more of a question than a comment, but the queen appears to accept it. Ellen stumbles away as quickly as she can, but she’s not gone more than a few steps before the queen stops her by casually calling:

“Ellen?”

All strength leaves Ellen at once, and she turns back automatically, almost subserviently. The queen’s smile grows sharper, but it isn’t unkind as Ellen might have feared.

“You will want this.” She tosses a small vial to Ellen. “It will treat the rash you are about to develop from walking through poison oak.”

The mocking bell-like laughter trails Ellen all the way back through the hawthorns.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ellen!” She’s shaken awake by two pairs of rough hands, and she drags her eyes open slowly. Her head is pounding, and her back is aching like never before. Did she fall asleep in the forest? When?

“What happened?” she questions groggily, and Ethan and David glance at each other in concern. Lydia steps forward from a cluster of trees.

“I found you here. I woke up early to walk and clear my head, and you were passed out beside the trail. I couldn’t carry you back alone. You seem to have a fever, do you feel alright?”

 _It was all a fever dream_! Ellen celebrates before she can clearly remember what dream she’s relieved wasn’t real. Then she licks dry lips to taste sweet berries that make her head spin, and horror washes back over her.

“Ellen?”

“Ellen!”

“I’m fine.” She pushes past both men to look at Lydia. “Lydia, you…”

Lydia’s eyes are wide, innocent, and genuine. Does she not remember? Is Ellen still delirious? It was so real…

But now, in the light of day, which no sign of snow or ice on her clothing and nothing from the fae land to serve as proof, Ellen doubts herself. How could it have been? The idea is absurd.

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head. “I still don’t feel well. Can you help me inside?”

“Of course!” David is supporting her weight in a moment, and between the four of them, they reach the apartment in short time. It’s like Ellen imagined; she’s quickly bundled up and set down in front of the TV to rest, and Lydia is beside her. But Lydia isn’t bundled up with her because Lydia is still showing no recognition that she was anywhere other than soundly sleeping at her apartment.

 _No one saw her there_ , Ellen’s brain whispers. _There’s no one to back her claims_.

Absurd, Ellen reminds herself, and when David and Ethan return with more hot chocolate and soup, she forces herself to engage in a regular, normal conversation with them instead of constantly examining Lydia for any sign that something is off. Still, it doesn’t take her long to realize that Lydia is staring at _her_ , and when David and Ethan leave to resume studying, Lydia stops her from trying to follow.

“Did you find it?”

Dread pools in Ellen’s stomach. “Find what?”

“You know what! The portal. Did you? You were so close to it, I can’t imagine that you didn’t… oh! Is this yours?” In her hands is the vile that the Winter Queen gave Ellen. When Ellen makes no response, Lydia begins turning it curiously. “It looks like some kind of ointment? It smells good, like pine.”

It isn’t until Lydia dips a finger in it that Ellen can bring herself to snatch it back. Lydia looks startled, and Ellen tries to hide the possessiveness that overcame her.

“I must have grabbed it through whatever haze came over me. It’s for poison oak. Did anyone else go through it?”

Lydia’s eyes widen. “So you did know where you were going!”

“No, I—I thought I saw you leaving. I was looking for you!”

For a moment, something crosses Lydia’s face, a blankness that reminds Ellen of the night before. Then it’s gone again, and Lydia says simply: “huh. Weird. Well, I’m just glad that we found you before anything could happen to you.”

“… yeah. Ah, Lydia, you never did say if you needed any of the ointment.”

“No, we dodged all of the patches. Do you need it? I thought you might already have it on, you smell like you do.”

Does she? Ellen isn’t sure. She’s not itchy, but she doesn’t want to regret it later if the smell is just from sleeping on the ground and the irritant is slow acting. With Lydia watching, she begins rubbing the ointment over her clothing first and then on any exposed skin. It seems to seep in and radiate compelling warmth, and she regrets not asking what _other_ properties it might have.

… _anti-histamine_ , she tells herself. _Snap out of it, Ellen, you got this from some pharmacy or another; it’s not a gift from the fae queen! Do they even do gifts?... well, of course not, they’re not real!_

Lydia must notice her aggravation, but she kindly refrains from commenting. For a moment, Ellen considers confiding in her that she needs to display the same sensitivity on a larger scale and stop talking about the fair folk entirely so that Ellen won’t have any more nightmares about them, but that seems unnecessary. It was just one particularly vivid fever dream. There’s no reason to think that this will become a pattern.

If only her dreams agreed. Even as the days turn to weeks, she has no nightmares about Lydia being kidnapped, but not a night passes without the fair folk slipping past her defenses and making thoughts of anything else almost impossible. Dream after dream has Ellen surrendering to them in various ways for increasingly flimsy reasons, and every morning, she wakes up with a stronger need to return. Just for a while, just to see if there’s really a portal hidden in the woods. Just to remind herself what it felt like. Just to see what other strange creatures may lurk there. Just for a taste, just a _tiny_ taste of their food. Ellen’s sure that she can find something to trade for it, and that’s all that she needs, isn’t it?

Somehow, she manages to keep her work quality. If anything, academic demands serve as a distraction from her fantasizing. None of her classmates or professors is any wiser about why she seems just a bit more tired as of late. After all, she is being worked to the bone. They all are. There’s no reason for any of them to suspect that something deeper might be wrong. In her apartment, so close to the source of her frustration and yearning, it’s a different story. Behind her back, Ethan and David begin discussing whether or not they should try to force her to go home for a weekend so that she can get some rest. Lydia just watches her with too-perceptive eyes.

Finally, finals are upon them, and then they’re done. It’s their last night together before they go their separate ways for break, and restlessness plagues Ellen fiercer than ever before. She can’t convince herself to be surprised that Lydia seems to feel it as well. When Lydia sits them all down together, she almost knows what her cousin will say before she says it:

“Before we all go home for Christmas, please, at least look at the clearing. If you don’t want to go near it, fine, but at least give me this. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until I know that someone else has seen it too. If you’re worried about the poison oak, don’t be, Ellen has an ointment.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ethan and David are now eyeing her with suspicion, and she suppresses a groan. “It’s just a general anti-histamine, I think. I mean, it’s effective, it worked after… don’t hold back on my part, really! I’m not feverish anymore; I promise I won’t wander off and somehow fall asleep on the ground. That hurt, and I don’t want to repeat it!”

David looks more convinced than Ethan, and Ellen knows that Lydia neither believes her nor cares.

“I’m going whether you all come with me or not,” she announces, staring directly at Ellen, and Ellen knows that her hand is being forced. She promised to bring all of them back, and whether she believes that that promise was made to an actual being or not, the universe is holding her to it.

“Let me get my winter coat,” she sighs, thankful that it’s actually cold enough outside to justify some degree of layering. She’ll look overdressed, but she can blame it on a weak constitution due to stress… Realizing that she has a better idea, she begins chattering about all of the ways that stress can destroy your immune systems and cold air can make you sick until, grumbling, Ethan and David are dressed more warmly as well. Sometimes being known as the paranoid pre-med student comes in handy.

It’s getting harder and harder not to admit to herself why she wants everyone to be dressed warmly, especially as she begins to recognize the area near the clearing. She’s all too aware of Ethan and David looking back and forth between her and Lydia; Lydia is staring resolutely at her, walking as if she has the path memorized already. With a jolt, it hits Ellen that Lydia might have been coming here on her own. That was never mentioned in their deal, was it? God, can Lydia just resell her soul even after Ellen does all that she can to save it?

Ethan reaches out a hand to steady her, and she smiles at him in gratitude, trying not to feel like she’s trading him and David for a chance for safety that her cousin might not accept.

Her concern and Lydia’s solemnity are contagious, and they reach the clearing in silence. David seems surprised that even this detail exists, but Ethan hangs back in caution.

“Why is it shimmering like that? Is there some kind of gas leak?”

That would be a logical explanation, wouldn’t it? It would explain the hallucinations and even her fever, but Ellen’s not sure anything could explain the intense need to cross through that has Ellen digging her heels into the dirt and praying. When Lydia steals her from Ethan to pull her forwards, she has no strength left to resist.

“Watch,” Lydia tells Ethan, eyes shining mischievously, and then she and Ellen are through. It’s less jarring this time, and Ellen’s not sure whether or not to be thankful.

“I _knew_ you’d been here before!” Lydia laughs, but Ellen is still too tense to join her. Even the sight of David gaping like a stunned fish when he pushes through a moment later doesn’t ease her tension. Only Ethan’s expression of quiet horror after Lydia ducks out and back through with him in tow strikes a chord with her.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” Ethan says, speaking so softly that the chilled air almost swallows the sound.

“Yeah, this is a nice prank, Lydia, but—”

Lydia glares at David, and he falls silently. Ethan, however, starts shaking his head, and the motion only increases in speed and intensity as his aggregation grows. “This isn’t possible! What did you do?”

“It is possible. It has to be or we wouldn’t be here.”

“It’s a shared delusion. I don’t know how you set this up, but…” he trails off, still shaking his head.

Lydia looks like she’s about to protest again, but her eyes soften when she sees how genuinely upset he is. “I’m sorry. I didn’t prepare you well enough, did I? Ethan, I know this is overwhelming, but think about it! This is something that science can’t explain yet, but it’s something that people have been discussing for hundreds and thousands of years! You’re just confirming what humans have already known, and if you could actually prove its existence to someone—“

“They’d think I’m a fucking lunatic? Or there’s some kind of conspiracy to keep this quiet. If—and that’s a big **if** —this is truly happening, other people must have been here before. Other humans must have tried to prove its existence, and yet no one believes them.”

“The fair folk don’t want to be known.” Ellen doesn’t realize that she spoke aloud until three pairs of eyes turn to her. Ethan, she notes, still looks exceptionally sick. She wants to reassure him, but she can’t bring herself to feign optimism.

Lydia steps up for her. “I can’t exactly blame them. You know humans would, as a whole, want to exploit this land for their own benefit. Especially the Republicans.”

It’s a friendly barb at David, and he, finally recovering from his shock, grumbles back good naturedly. Ethan doesn’t look convinced, but when David asks him, “aren’t there theories about this anyway? Space folding or the multiverse or something,” he finally cracks a half smile. Then his eyes drift to Ellen, and the frown returns.

“You knew.”

“I thought it was a fever dream!!” she protests. “I guess it didn’t leave me entirely, but—”

“Were you looking for this place?”

“No. I… well—” There’s no use avoiding it now, is there? Still, Ellen hesitates. Now David and Lydia look curious as well, and she still has no easy excuse. “This is going to sound weird, but… well, this whole thing is already weird, so maybe not – I could have sworn that I saw Lydia leave our apartment and walk this way, and when I went to follow her, I heard music that led me to the clearing. I remember coming here, but I wasn’t prepared for the cold at all. I guess I wandered around looking for her for a bit and then passed out soon after returning. I really did write it off as some kind of feverish delusion. You know I was no more willing to accept that this is real than you were!” A half truth, and it seems to mollify all of them.

“Well,” Lydia says, regaining their attention, “now that we are all here and do all accept that this is real, why don’t I introduce you to Mr. Tumnus?”

“Didn’t you say that eating anything that he offers would trap us here forever?”

Lydia wands her hand dismissively at David. “You don’t have to actually eat anything. I still want to introduce you.”

“Hang on! Lydia, the myths all say that the food of the fair folk is nearly irresistible. How can you expect us to just sit there and watch you eat it?”

“It can’t actually be that bad. I’m still here, aren’t I? … Ellen? What’s wrong?”

She should tell them. She really needs to tell them. Instead, Ellen finds herself shaking her head. “I don’t like this, Lydia.”

“Oh come on! Don’t be a spoil sport. You’re all so serious, you need to lighten up a bit.”

Ethan bristles. “’Lightening up’ is doing impromptu karaoke or asking a girl out for a date or volunteering for a hypnotist’s show! Exploring some kind of fae world is just stupid!”

That finally gets under Lydia’s skin, and she and Ethan spend a moment glaring at each other. David steps forward to break them up, but he can’t meet Lydia’s eyes when she turns to him for support.

“Lyds, I think they’re right. This is dangerous. We need to go back.”

Lydia takes a deep breath, meets each of their eyes in turn, and pulls her trump card. “You all can go back if you want, but I’m not leaving. I’m going to see my friend.”

Ethan starts to say something but then stops himself. David won’t leave Lydia. Ellen can’t. Ethan won’t be the only one to return, not least because he’s smart enough to know that if the others all disappear, he’d be the prime suspect for a police report with no logical way to defend himself.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he relents. Ignoring his bitterness, Lydia smiles brightly and begins walking. She doesn’t seem to care how unenthusiastically the others walk behind her, and she doesn’t pause at all until she reaches a small cluster of trees.

David walks beyond her, confused. “I thought you said that he didn’t choose to live in the snow?”

“It didn’t look like this before,” Lydia whispers. They all stare at the icy mess until Ethan nudges David and points to an insignia carved into a particularly large fir tree. Lydia sees where he’s pointing and moans in despair. “The Queen of Winter.”

“Why would she do this?” David asks. “Did he try to run?”

“He wouldn’t! This is his home. It will be recaptured by the Summer Court soon anyway, he told me it would…”

Ellen remembers the queen’s interest in Mr. Tumnus, and her stomach turns. Is she responsible for this? She wonders again why the queen has any interest in her friends and the agreement that one of them could be made a warrior for the fair folk for up a week. The queen said that they’d be left human, didn’t she? Did she say anything about whether or not their minds would be their own? Can she steal their vitality or youth? What about their emotions?

“We have to get him back.”

Ellen startles out of her reverie. “What! Lydia, are you crazy!”

Lydia stares back at her resolutely. “He saved my life, Ellen. I would have frozen to death if he hadn’t found me. Or, worse, the queen could have found me instead.”

 _He tried to kidnap you!_ Ellen wants to scream at her, but she knows it would do no good. Even if they try to leave, she hasn’t fulfilled her end of the bargain yet. None of them will be free until she can. Instead, all that she can say is, “Lydia, I swear to god, if you ever manage to find some loophole in reality again, _leave it the fuck alone_.” She doesn’t even have the energy to be angry when Lydia gives her a shaky smile but doesn’t agree.

“Now hold on a second,” Ethan insists. “What can we actually do? You can’t expect us to somehow rescue the faun from a dungeon, assuming that it’s even still alive. There will be guards and… and... _magic_.” He winces like he’s eaten the most sour grape on earth and yet soldiers on. “We’re four college students, not special operatives, and David is the only one of us with athletic skills worth writing home about. What exactly do you expect from us? Where even _is_ the Queen’s palace or dungeons, or should we be looking for some kind of… fairy high security prison?”

“She lives in a castle in the mountains. We’ll think of something.” Lydia gestures vaguely, and Ellen discovers that her bottomless pool of dread can in fact grow deeper.

“Lydia. Please, _please_ tell me that you aren’t planning to strike a deal with her.”

“…Lydia?” David prods when the young woman fails to respond. Ethan loudly groans, and even Ellen has the strong urge to slap her cousin across the face.

 _Stupid, **stupid**_ …

“We’ll think of something,” Lydia repeats, not meeting any of their eyes. Ellen wants to believe that it’s due to guilt, but then she sees what has caught her cousin’s attention. A small, round, brown bird has landed not a foot away from them and is staring at them with uncanny intelligence. Carefully, Lydia steps towards it, and it hops a short distance away but then stops as if waiting for her to follow. Lydia smiles. “I think we’ll have help.”

“What are you—the _bird_?” Ethan asks incredulously.

“It’s a wren, isn’t it? The king of the birds. It’s trying to lead us somewhere.”

“You’ve lost it. I realize that we’ve somehow stumbled into one of your delusions as well, but you’ve still lost it.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at him and, true to her word, takes another few steps towards the bird. When it flies onto a low branch on an oak tree, Lydia goes to stand beneath it. When it flies another few trees away, Lydia follows.

“Oh my god, we’re actually going to follow the bird, aren’t we?” David says with no small amount of amazement and frustration.

“We have all lost it,” Ethan mutters, rubbing at the space between his eyes with vigor. Ellen can’t help but agree with him, but, seeing no other choice, she follows her cousin in silence. On some level, part of her also wonders if they really have lost it and this is some prolonged nightmare – since when can Lydia identify birds anyway, king of the birds or not? – but most of her is overcome by dread and longing. Loathe as she is to admit it, the idea of returning to the fae queen doesn’t feel unpleasant. Logically, she knows that it _will be_ , but emotionally…

 _Hold it together, Ellen_ , she chides herself. _You didn’t hold out this long just to surrender the moment you’re back in her territory. Lydia needs you to be strong_. She doesn’t sound convincing to her own internal ears, but saying it provides some comfort, so she keeps the silent chatter going until she realizes that they’ve reached their destination.

“Hey! Where is it— Don’t leave!” Ethan’s panic shatters Ellen’s façade of calm in an instant. She doesn’t know if she feels better or worse for Lydia’s perpetual serenity.

“We must be waiting for something else now… there, see? Coming up from the waves!”

“A mermaid?” Ethan asks doubtfully. David looks almost hopeful at that, as if a pretty woman talking to them will compensate for their troubles – _don’t think about how he’ll react to the queen, don’t think about it!_ – but Lydia shakes her head.  

“A selkie, most likely. See? She’s coming ashore now, and there, she’s taking off her coat…”

David’s hopes are visibly renewed, and Ellen can’t entirely blame him. The woman _is_ pretty. Her hair is long and shimmers like sea glass, and her eyes are the color of the ocean’s foam. Ellen tries to remember the stories, and nothing strikes her as immediately dangerous. If anything, aren’t selkie women usually the victims of men who want to hide their coats and steal them as wives?

“Oh, good!” The selkie laughs, and although David and Ethan both startle at the sound, Ellen notices that they lean closer when it stops. The selkie smiles at them before continuing: “You’ve finally arrived. Aislyn is near, and she must not be kept waiting.”

“The Summer Queen.” Lydia barely breathes the words, sounding vaguely rapturous. Ellen’s insides twist, and she decides that she’s beyond trying to decipher if that sensation is meant to be pleasant or a manifestation of visceral horror. Here, it’s all the same in the end.

“Will she help us get back the faun?” David asks hopefully.

“She will help in many ways. But first, come. This is not the place for serious discussion. Winter Court spies are everywhere this far North.”

The selkie walks calmly to the tree-line and beacons for the students to follow her. They do, falling quickly into a single file line so as not to crowd her. David has the honor of following the closest behind the selkie, and Ellen, from her spot in the back, can almost see the tension between him and Ethan, who’s making a point of walking so closely behind David that a single misstep could have them both falling in a tangle onto the forest floor. Lydia’s yearning is just as clear and just as clearly aimed not at their guide but at their location. Ellen wonders if she still knows more than she’s letting on.

Then they get close enough for Ellen to faintly make out a small cottage, to notice the telltale smoke rising from a quaint chimney, and to be hit so strongly by craving that it takes the full strength of her will to keep her pace at a brisk walk instead of a sprint.

 _They could be burning wood, it might not even be food_ … but it is. They’re soon within range of a heavenly smell, and now even David and Ethan have visibly forgotten about their previous distraction. The smell only grows stronger as they get nearer to its source, and Ellen’s will starts to wear thin. She’s on the verge of giving up entirely and racing past the others when the group stops. Ellen digs her nails into her palms until she draws blood, and the selkie smiles at her.

“I apologize, Ellen, but could you please get us more kindle for the fire before coming to join us? We’ll need it for the welcome feast, and I know that you won’t wander off and get lost.” Her eyes say otherwise.

Ellen forces herself to nod and approximate a polite smile. She knows that she’s failing; even Lydia looks a bit concerned by the pained grimace on her face.

Ethan turns to the selkie in protest. “Hold on, can’t someone else—“

He falls silent at a single dismissive gesture. The selkie doesn’t break eye contact with Ellen.

“Now, please.”

Ellen nods again stiffly. “Lydia, I’ll… I’ll see you again soon, alright? Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

 Her words are as hopeless as Ethan’s. Lydia spouts platitudes, and Ellen leaves the group knowing that she’s just sacrificed David and Ethan to horrendous fates. Lydia will not – _cannot_ – stop them from consuming the food of the fair folk. It’s unfathomable that any of the three will escape the feast without first making a deal of some sort. They should never have come here. The guilt is strong enough that it almost manages to overcome Ellen’s longing to join the others and her resentment for being allowed so close to the source of her desire before being so cruelly denied… _almost_ , but not quite.

Ellen isn’t sure how she manages to clear the area, but gaining distance from the cottage and its feast does nothing to clear her head. To the contrary, the idea of doubling back and forcing the fair folk to accommodate her is so compelling that she wants to scream at herself for continuing her methodical trudge forwards. She starts to admit to herself that maybe this has nothing to do with her own strength of will at all. Maybe it’s some sort of fae glamour or the effect of having already made a deal with the winter court.

Or maybe it has something to do with the sound that’s only just becoming audible. Ellen wonders for a moment if she’s being called somewhere as her cousin was that fateful night, but then the sound becomes clearer, and she’s realizes that it’s not music but voices. It’s not long before the sound is joined by rustling around her. She can’t see any fair folk, but she knows she must be following their route. Finally, she sees a break in the trees ahead of her and pushes forwards…

Right into a small street paved with worn stone, lined with stalls in every color, brimming with small men and women with sunken skin and cruel eyes, boasting a dazzling display of light reflecting off of coins exchanging hands for goods that make Ellen’s mouth water before she can even register what each is – a goblin market.

Oh, _fuck_.

The clamor pauses for only a moment before it renews with vigor. Half a dozen goblin men are upon her instantly, offering the ripest fruits, freshest breads, and juiciest meats she’s ever seen. Their voices overlay as they make their pitches, and the resulting confusion is the only small mercy that she can find to keep herself from accepting the first deal she can understand. Her arm is rising of its own accord, and she realizes that it won’t matter if she just points; they’ll assume she accepted whatever deal the respective seller offered, and she’ll be locked in. She’ll likely never be aware of what she traded away. She doubts her mind will last long, surrounded as she is by chances to gorge herself on their poisons.

“Stop!” She manages to yell. Her arm is still pointing, and her command barely sounds commanding to her own ears. None of the goblins listen, and their pitches grow more insistent. One shoves at her a cake with chocolate icing that glimmers in the harsh winter sun. Another waves in front of her a leg of what looks like it might be lamb if it weren’t quite so large and unnaturally golden. A third tries to push into her left hand a spit stuffed with pieces of fish and exotically colored roasted vegetables. A fourth holds up a basket of berries, and the reminder finally breaks through her daze long enough for her to repeat: “ _Stop!_ I can’t stop here. I made a deal with the Queen. I can’t buy anything, I need to find her, I need to keep my deal—”

The noise dies down, but the smells do not. Ellen is near tears. She forces herself back a step to gain some space, but it does nothing for the craving. Her nails are cutting into her palms again, and she’s bitten cleanly through her lower lip (distantly, she realizes that she’ll likely need stitches), but the craving has her mind in such a haze that the injuries barely register. She must be drawing on the strength of the deal now, and even that is only just barely saving her.

She doesn’t notice a hand tugging at her own until the force is enough to almost topple her over.

“Fucking pox,” the dwarf grumbles. “I said _follow me,_ you dolt.”

Slowly, bit by painful bit, Ellen regains control over her mind. It must be half a mile away before she’s grounded enough to remember her lip, but once she does, the pain quickly overrides any remaining traces of trance. She wonders if she should pause to try to ice it – they are surrounded by snow, after all – or if the risk of infection is too high. Is she vulnerable to diseases evolved to target the fair folk? Do such things even exist? There are still animals here, so there must be a risk that she’ll get an infection from exposure to their waste, same as on earth…

The dwarf allows no time for her musing. Their trek brings them up an increasingly steep slope, and Ellen begins to fear that if she isn’t careful, she’ll fall and injure herself even worse. Would the dwarf stop then? Somehow, she doubts it.

Finally, they reach a cave on moderately even ground, and the dwarf wastes no time briskly informing her that she’s on her own. Before Ellen can even protest, he’s disappeared back into a brush. A moment later, her attention is captured by a growl reverberating off of the cave’s walls.

After her first trip here, Ellen knows that the wolves must be the servants of the Queen, but that doesn’t quite reassure her. The wolf is massive, and it doesn’t look pleased to see her.

“I—” Ellen swallows heavily and tries again. “The Queen. I made a—”

The wolf has already turned away, and Ellen rushes to catch up when it takes the first small crag in a single bound. She doesn’t bother trying to speak again. She gets the sense that she’s lucky enough that the wolf waits impatiently within her line of sight no matter how long it takes her to catch up to it between passes. It doesn’t help that she’s beginning to feel light headed and weak. The blood from her lip has caked on, her winter clothing isn’t doing enough to keep the chill from her bones, and she’s exhausted on a deeper level than she could have previously imagined. By the time that the Queen’s large, foreboding castle is in sight, Ellen is ready to collapse.

It seems her second meeting with the Queen will show her no less pathetic than her first. All the worse, for the throne room is so much more impressive than the woods. Everything is covered in a thin layer of reflective ice, giving the room a sense of endlessness. It makes Ellen feel very small and insignificant. She tries to at least keep her back straight and chin up as she approaches the Queen’s throne, she really does, but it’s hopeless. As the Queen’s laughter again rings through her ears, she sinks to her knees in a mix of awe and defeat.

“Poor girl,” the Queen murmurs, and Ellen can’t find it within herself to be offended at the patronization. She has larger concerns, especially when the Queen asks: “And where are the others?”

Ellen chances a glance up and sees immediately that the Queen already knows and is asking only to hear her explanation. “I’m sorry,” Ellen blurts automatically. Struggling to compose herself, she expands: “A selkie found them – us. We followed her back to her house, or _a_ house, at least, and then there was food and— I—they couldn’t leave that even if I—” Despite her best efforts, her voice catches and refuses to release. Regardless of the Queen’s plans for her friends, it’s a greater loss for Ellen herself. At least the Queen had promised that they’d only be in her service for a week. Who knows what the others have already traded away at the Summer Court’s feast.

“They let you go?” The Queen hums, almost managing to seem interested.

“Yes. They didn’t want me, or didn’t want to interfere with our deal, or—” Ellen realizes that she has no idea why the Summer Court didn’t just kill her on sight.

As if reading her mind – perhaps she truly _is_ , a thought that somehow manages to make Ellen shudder despite all of the larger concerns staring her in the face – the Winter Queen nods. “They need all four of you alive to fulfill their prophecy, but they cannot keep you as long as you are bound to My service.”

Bound to – _oh_.

“For a week, right? Or does that not start until…?”

The Queen’s eyes narrow. “You had no intention of fulfilling your end of the deal.”

“That’s not—I didn’t think you were—I mean… when I was back on earth it was hard to, to believe that this had really—”

“Even when you came here, you did not lead them to Me.”

“Lydia wouldn’t have—”

“I did not ask for your excuses.” The Queen’s voice is sharp, and Ellen cowers back in fear and shame. It does nothing to shield her from the Queen’s searching gaze. “Two months, you lasted. The craving should have rendered you mad.”

Ellen isn’t sure if trying to explain would count as another excuse. If she’s honest with herself, she has no explanations to offer.

The Queen offers an explanation of her own. “I have heard that drops of Our blood persist in your world, shaping your greatest minds and strongest warriors and driving bastard offspring mad. Perhaps there is a reason you and your cousin were drawn here.”

There’s nothing to refute the theory, and, if it appeases the Queen, far be it from Ellen to argue. She nods – too quickly, and the blood rushing from her head makes her feel ill. The Queen laughs again, and to Ellen’s ears, it sounds softer.

“Come, child.”

Ellen stumbles as she rises and twice as she climbs the stone stairs leading to the Queen’s throne. It’s a relief to finally sink down into a proper kneel beside the Queen, and Ellen has the absurd urge to lean against the Queen’s leg or, worse still, crawl closer and lay her head in the creature’s lap.

“It does not matter how long you resisted Our food. You cannot resist Me.”

Warm heaviness fills Ellen’s limbs as she nods. It feels good to finally admit that she’s pushed herself to her limit and can fight no longer. It feels good to finally surrender herself fully to the much older and stronger being before her. She knew that she never stood a chance. What did she think that her little games would earn her?

If the Queen gained any amusement from them, that’s reward enough. Somehow, Ellen finds herself nuzzling against the Queen’s leg like a bitch, and when the Queen’s hand tangles in her hair, the sound that pushes past her lips is half whine. Then the Queen’s other brushes against her lip, the intoxicating heat pulses, and Ellen fades out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence and disturbing imagery

No specific moment stands out to her as when her awareness returns. It’s a gradual awakening, not unlike a reversal of drifting off into dreams. Her senses return to her slowly. She’s cold, but not uncomfortably so. She’s on a bed. It’s firm. The sheets are silk. The lighting from the chandelier is dim, casting dancing shadows in the corners. The furniture is sharp edges with few sweeping flourishes. Everything is white or silver. It makes Ellen tired to look at, and it’s a struggle to force herself to sit and then slowly slip out onto the cold marble floor. She gets the sense that she might have attempted this many times only to slip back under before her plans could solidify. Even now, her thoughts are fighting through a thick fog.

There are two doors, and Ellen walks through the first into a lavish bathroom. There’s water waiting in a basin, and Ellen splashes it on her face until the chill dispels the lingering mental haze. The bath is drawn, and Ellen dips in a finger to see if it’s also on the verge of freezing over. It isn’t; although the small tea candles surrounding it shouldn’t so much as make a dent, the water is somehow feels pleasant. Ellen is half submerged before she thinks to wonder when she lost her clothing.

She doesn’t know how long she remains there. Back home, she’d start wrinkling in minutes. Here, her skin remains smooth, especially once coated in fragrant soap. Ellen tries to figure out what the smell reminds her of, but concentrating on it too quickly sends her slipping down deeper into the water, and it seems to take her longer each time to reassemble her thoughts. Finally, it occurs to Ellen that if she doesn’t leave soon, she might never, and she reluctantly climbs back out into the cool air. There’s no towel for her to dry herself with, nor does a quick search of the bedroom produce any clothes. Shrugging to herself, Ellen removes one of the sheets from the bed and clumsily fashions a dress for herself. It’s not the most flattering thing that she’s ever worn, but it will have to do.

The second door opens at her touch, and Ellen steps out into a long hallway lined with mirrors. For a moment, the sight of herself almost sends her back, but the shame doesn’t last long. Ellen’s emotions are as slick as the glass. Only vague curiosity compels her forwards until she finally reaches another heavy door. Like the last, it opens at her touch, leading into a more traditional hallway. Ellen walks through slowly, taking in the landscape paintings, intricately carved moldings, and flower arrangements resting on small tables. Idly, she wonders what guests the decorations are meant to impress. Half-dreaming of fairy balls, she glances into a few open rooms. Most are bedrooms not unlike the one she just left. A few are drawing rooms. One, she can’t discern the purpose of – it almost appears to be a sauna, with the entire floor filled with still water broken only by a single nectar-filled pod at the center – but it makes her feel oddly light-headed and in need of a nap. Not ready to surrender her mind again so soon, she spends the next few minutes putting distance between herself and anything that she suspects might be a trap for unwary mortals.

It’s harder than she expected. The flowers, she soon realizes, have unnecessarily compelling scents. Glass decorations reflect windows’ lights in such a way that makes Ellen lose an undeterminable amount of time to dazed staring. Snatches of far away music tempt her to drift off course. When she stops to examine a particularly detailed painting, small flashes of movement snare her attention on a siren brushing a silver comb through long hair. As Ellen watches, the siren catches her eyes. A smile spreads across the siren’s lips. It isn’t a nice smile. Distantly, Ellen thanks the stars that these paintings don’t transmit sound, and, with some effort, she tears away her gaze and hurries on.

Finally, Ellen reaches a grand staircase that spirals down out of sight. The descent allows her mind time to clear for real, and the slow degeneration of the elegance around her helps her to remain grounded. By the time that she’s reached the lower floor, she’s surrounded by weathered stone. Cold drafts assault her through thin, high windows that barely assist the few flickering torches in providing light. Dank puddles and spots of icy slosh line the narrow hall and create hazards for the reckless.  It’s an unwelcoming environment for a human, and Ellen knows that it must be much worse for the Summer Court creatures imprisoned here; long before she reaches the iron-wrought cells, Ellen knows she’s reached the dungeons.

The cells are cramped, each containing only a single splintered bench. The ones closest to the stairs are empty, but, from ahead, Ellen can hear the sound of shuffling, something banging against a wall, sobbing, and retching. Her stomach begins to churn, and for a fleeting moment, she considers leaving. However, she knows that that isn’t an option. If she’s here, it’s for a reason. If she’s to be trapped here, there’s no use trying to escape – she won’t be able to – and if there’s something else that the Queen expects from her, she’d best hurry and do it. She has no power here, and the sooner she accepts that, the better. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Ellen begins her trek deeper into the fae prison.

A hush falls across the cells closest to her as the creatures within sense her approach. Somehow, it unnerves Ellen more than the sounds of anguish did. She’s puzzled at herself until she catches her first glimpse of one of the caged creatures and freezes, barely able to even breathe. Despite the iron that separates them, Ellen feels like _she’s_ the one trapped. Instincts to remain frozen and flee war within her until she feels faint, but she can’t bring herself to take her eyes off of the monster: a Dullahan, a headless horsemen, crouching low on a fierce, ferocious black stallion. In one hand rests a whip made of a human spine and in the other, a head. Minutes pass before Ellen is able to force herself to slowly back away. She wants to keep her eyes on the beast, but she quickly realizes it would be counterproductive in every sense of the word.

It seems that the first cells are for the traitors, members of the Unseelie Court who angered their Queen. Ellen quickly finds herself face to face with two small boggarts. Vaguely remembering the warnings, Ellen stutters out a hello to each, but they sneer at her, and one flies into a rage as close to the iron bars of its cells as it can stand. In a cell that reeks of stagnant seawater are each uisge, shapeshifters most prone to taking the form of horses or handsome young men in attempts to drown the unwise. With them are finfolk, dark merfolk with smiles cruel enough to make Ellen shudder. However, she’s almost reluctant to continue forwards because she can hear the snarling of hellhounds ahead. She walks past quickly, sneaking only a quick glance into that particular cage. To her relief, it holds no black shuck, though Ellen is sure that she’s already been cursed dozens of times over by her presence here.

The next cage holds a Bodoach, an ancient fairy man who Ellen remembers is particularly prone to stealing children and has the speed of a horse. It limps closer to its cage entrance to stare at her with red, unblinking eyes. In the cell opposite are brags. Ellen needs only a single glance to see their forms beginning to morph, and she immediately turns away, already too frightened to pretend to be capable of seeing her worst fear laid in front of her. She has a sneaking suspicion that it might involve a very nasty fate for her cousins and friends, and she’d rather force her way into a cage and die right then and there than witness that. The shape shifting buggar faeries look like they’d like this, as do the small, slimy bwbach goblins and the dunede bogies beside them. The next cage is particularly massive and holds a Cyclops. When it turns to Ellen, a large flame blazes from its single eye, but something prevents it from reaching past the iron. Ellen realizes that the cells must be heavily warded in order to trap such powerful creatures, iron or not. Still, the security seems lacking. Are there always no guards here, or have they made themselves scarce in honor of her visit? What is she meant to be seeing here?

Whatever it is, she must not have found it yet. Ellen keeps walking until she reaches cells for members of the Seelie Court, but this is little improvement. The first cage holds a creature no less awful than any Unseelie creature: a Cuimilt, a Skinwalker, and it shrieks loudly and horribly when it sees her, reminding her of its hatred for all mortals. Leprechauns taunt her forcefully and cruelly. A satyr gestures for Ellen to come closer, and her attempts to shy away almost send her into the grasp of a large, snarling troll. A rock giant threatens to crush her alive, again stopped only by the powerful wards surrounding his tiny, cramped cell.

Finally, gradually, the caged creatures become less monstrous. Pixies are held in small, individual cages hanging from the ceiling. Although a few spit at Ellen and make ripping gestures at their hair, most are too busy desperately trying to avoid the iron surrounding them. As Ellen watches, one dips too low and clips its left wing against a bar, and the resulting pained scream echoes for half a minute. From a particularly cramped cell, a half-starved centaur watches mournfully. In the next, ragged dwarves huddle together for warmth, surrounded by ice to separate them from anything earthen. In a large, freezing pool topped with a thick layer of ice are undines and seal skinned selkies, and huddling on the ice is what Ellen ultimately recognizes as an old shellycoat.

Eventually, she reaches the most pathetic creatures of all. Gnomes press themselves into the shadows and stare at her in terror as she passes. When the whisps see her, they begin to cry, and her heart breaks for them. They look so similar to human girls that Ellen can’t help but imagine her cousin in their place, and the thought burns so badly that she almost slips on an icy patch trying to rush past them. Immediately, she wishes she hadn’t. In the final cell, watching her with old, exhausted eyes, is a faun. The moment that their eyes meet, it becomes clear that they both know exactly who the other is.

“Daughter of Eve,” Tumnus greets with a shallow nod, and Ellen isn’t sure if her heart holds pity or hatred. Some small, bitter part of her can’t help but blame this creature for what happened to Lydia and so, by extension, to herself. If Tumnus were half as kind as Lydia claims, he never would have given Lydia any fairy food. He would have told her to leave and never return, and he would have made sure that she understood why it was imperative that she obey. For his part, Tumnus clearly blames Ellen for his capture and is only refraining from any open accusations because he needs her to have any hope of rescue.

Ellen’s bitterness swells at the thought that Tumnus might have expected his rescuer to be Lydia. Dozens of accusations run through her head: _my cousin is probably lost to the Summer Court because of you; she and both of our roommates were exposed to fairy food because she insisted on looking for help for you; she cared about you enough to risk all of our lives; you should be ashamed of how you twisted her priorities; do you even care, or is it just fae nature to fuck over humans?_

With some effort, she bites them all back. “Mr. Tumnus. I don’t suppose that you know why I’m here?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Tumnus’s face twists angrily. “ _She_ sent you to torture me? Lydia spoke so highly of you. I’m disappointed that you’re so quick to betray her friends.”

“Excuse me!” How dare he! Ellen’s pity dies abruptly. “It was a genuine question, but _thank you_ for assuming the worst of me. I’m doing this for her! All of this – risking my roommates’ lives, risking my own life! – to save her from the stupid choices **you** encouraged her to make! How dare you blame this on me!”

Tumnus isn’t moved. “She chose to come here and to eat our food. She didn’t ask for you to try to play savior.”

“She’s my cousin! I wasn’t going to allow her to throw her life away—”

“So you thought you’d throw her life away for her by involving the Winter Queen?”

“You involved the Queen the moment you chose to trap a human in Her domain!”

“Her domain!” Tumnus scoffs. “Aislyn will be here soon. _Your cousin_ will be welcomed into Her Court, and if your roommates prove loyal, they will be too. Only you, traitorous girl, will suffer with the Unseelie beasts.”

Ellen spits at him, although her spittle doesn’t make it far and isn’t nearly as dramatic as the movies portray. “As if any Court is friendly to humans. You’ve _damned_ her…”

Ellen’s voice fails her as angry tears push past her eyes.

Tumnus simply stares at her. “You’ve damned yourself and, if your fears are true, your roommates as well.”

“Because of you!”

“Because you couldn’t respect Lydia’s choices and thought you could meddle in Court politics.”

“I had every right to try to perform a Quest for her safe return to earth.”

“And you’ll face the consequences of that,” Tumnus sneers, “if they haven’t already begun. Take a good look around you! This may be your fate, if it isn’t gorging yourself on our wastes or dying in battle. Maybe if you’re particularly lucky, you’ll end up a broodmare for the Queen. Is that the outcome you’re hoping for?”

A horrible thought strikes Ellen. “Is that what you planned to do to my cousin?”

“I’m a faun, not a satyr,” Tumnus scoffs. “I don’t go looking for young women to rape.”

“And I don’t want that fate for myself or anyone that I care about or any human at all! The Winter Queen promised that She’d let us all go after a week of service, it was our deal, but now… but now…!”

“Deals with the fair folk never go as you wish—”

“Which is why I don’t believe for one damn second you had anything good in mind for Lydia!” Ellen strikes the bars hard. Distantly, she hears a creature yelp at the resounding thud, but she can’t muster any sympathy for it. None of these monsters mean her or her friends anything but harm. “I’m glad She captured you,” Ellen hisses.

Tumnus’s face twists back into a snarl, and, too quickly for Ellen to follow the motion, forces his hand through the bars to grab her. He gives her a moment to process this, and then he snaps her wrist.

Ellen braces herself for pain, but she doesn’t feel anything until Tumnus tries to jerk her arm into his cell. That produces a sharp, almost electric jolt, but the pain is easily overridden by Ellen’s fear and anger. She knows that she doesn’t have any hope of freeing herself from his grip, and every moment that passes gives him another opportunity to try to force more of her through the bars so that he can more easily harm her without exposing himself to the iron. Trying to pull back only further threatens to separate her shoulder from its socket or break her wrist clean in two. Desperate, Ellen tries to maneuver her body to make the angle of her arm as natural as possible, trying to protect herself from more damage. It presses her entire body against the cell, and Ellen, seemingly granted clarity by some ancient drive to survive, notices that Tumnus is eyeing her as if wondering if he should shift his grasp to accommodate the increased length of arm available to him. In a final panic-laden attempt to save herself, Ellen takes the opportunity to yank back hard.

Tumnus is pulled forward only slightly – having four legs gives him stability humans could only dream of – but it’s enough to place him within painful proximity to the iron. His grip slips entirely, and Ellen pushes through the pain to force her arm back through the bars.

Not a moment too soon, Ellen thinks; her wrist is starting to swell like a balloon. Tentatively, she brings it closer to herself, and the pain that the slightest movement brings makes her breath catch. Her shoulder is also beginning to complain with a dull, radiating ache. It takes what in her mind is an embarrassingly long time for her to remember to make a sling for it. All that she has available is what’s passing as her clothing, but it will have to do. She does her best to ignore the faun’s taunting as she undresses.

Finally, the two are back to staring at each other, this time with open malice. Ellen hovers a good five paces back, but Tumnus is clearly too vexed to gloat.

 _Why is she still down here?_ What does the Queen want from her? Ignoring Tumnus for the moment, Ellen casts her eyes around for anything that might make her purpose more clear. Finally, she finds it; tucked away in the shadows are two jagged and rusty halves of a bar. Ellen looks back at Tumnus and feels her face curl into an uncharacteristically malicious grin as fear settles on the faun’s face.

“This is for Lydia,” she informs him in a low hiss. She then selects the longer of the two broken halves and stalks forward.

It takes her a minute to work out the mechanics of hitting him through the bars. The pain in her wrist makes it difficult for her to maintain her grip, and there’s not much room for her to maneuver. Much as it visibly pains him, Tumnus is quickly able to knock the bar out of her grasp. However, he, too, has very limited room. In order to fully remove the bar from Ellen’s reach, he has to kick it flush against the wall of the cage, drastically reducing the space in which he can comfortably stand. Ellen simply stares at him for another long moment and then goes to retrieve the other half. This time, she has much less hesitation in putting as much force as possible in trying to stab his shoulder. Again, Tumnus easily uses her experience to knock the bar out of her grip, but this time, she reaches into the cage to retrieve it.

Tumnus rears up on his hind legs, clearly planning to come down hard on her arm and crush it once and for all. Instinct screams at Ellen to _move,_ but something deeper keeps her rooted to the spot until, at the last possible moment and with a speed that Ellen knows she shouldn’t possess, she finds herself jerking the bar upright. It pierces cleanly through Tumnus’s left leg, which in no way prevents him from following through on shattering her forearm.

When Ellen hears slow, mocking clapping behind her, she dares to pray that she’s still somehow won. That hope lasts until the clapping is drowned out by Tumnus’s screaming as his shock wears off. Ellen distantly wonders why she can’t feel her own injuries, but more of her is preoccupied by a churning horror at what just transpired. Sure, she hated the faun, but she had no intention of _maiming_ him. What has she done?

She barely notices when Tumnus stumbles off of her to hide in a corner and futilely attempt to pull the bar out of his leg. She surprises herself – and him and, likely, the Queen – when she still has the clarity of mind to explain: “Don’t do that. You’ll bleed out if you botch removing it.”

Tumnus spits at her, making a much more impressive show of it than she managed. He’s rewarded for his efforts by a barbed whip crashing into his shoulder.

“I should mirror every injury you gave her,” the Queen comments mildly, “but it is quicker to leave you to the Wolves.”

Tumnus’s screaming resumes as two of the larger wolf guards rush through the hall and into his now open cage, and the screaming doesn’t stop until the Queen leads Ellen through a previously-hidden door and shuts it behind them. The silence is eerie, and it suddenly hits Ellen how cold, tired, and frightened she is. Her realization that this horrible mixture of emotions likely pleases the Queen leads to a strange, dissonant sense of joy.

With no further fanfare, the Queen unfurls her magic – Ellen can _feel it_ expanding around her until it’s almost suffocating – and heals Ellen’s wounds. She lingers for a moment on Ellen’s wrist, reaching out and brushing it with her own fingers. Ellen quickly recognizes the resulting fatigue crashing over her like a wave, but she’s no less helpless against it this second time. The last thing that she’s conscious for is the Queen smiling down at her as she murmurs “ _now_ your service has begun.”


	4. Chapter 4

The carriage is already far from the mountains when Ellen regains herself for the second time, curled up against the Queen and barely able to think for it. Once again, the Queen’s hand is absently stroking her hair, and it’s all that Ellen can manage to focus on. Conversations between the Queen and her servants break through in muted snatches, but even then, Ellen mostly finds herself lost in the Queen’s voice. A small part of herself, almost entirely hidden away for its own protection, reflects on how incredibly fucked she is.

Regardless, she manages to be disappointed when the carriage stops and she’s nudged away. Before, she had hardly registered the flow of time around her. Now, the high position of the sun sputters back into her awareness. Ellen blinks slowly, trying and failing to recall when she reached the Queen’s castle or how long she stayed there. Her reverie is broken by a spear being shoved into her hands.

“A gift, freely given. You have proven mildly capable with stabbing weapons,” the Queen explains with a laugh. Ellen is mortified to find herself blushing as she stutters out her thanks. Then she’s following the Queen down a steep hill, and her attention is stolen by what lies at its base.

This must be where the Summer Court is camping. For the first time, Ellen notices that the previously oppressive snow and ice have been completely replaced by lush grass and an equally harsh heat. On the golden field in front of her, golden tents accented with red and drawn with silver chords rest in small clusters. Strands of harp music waft up from somewhere deep inside, maybe from the babbling brook winding lazily through the middle. The sound gives Ellen the urge to dance or perhaps to sleep. The whole place shimmers in a way that no amount of rapid blinking will correct.

Bustling through it all is a variety of creatures. (Ellen flinches when she notices several fauns, and the Queen breathes another short laugh.) Most are clearly preparing for battle. Their golden armor gleams in the sun, and Ellen notices weapons ranging from daggers to spears to bow and arrows. A few almost-human looking creatures are armored only with seemingly ancient staffs that lend to a mystical air. A small giant looks prepared to rely on its fists. It’s an impressive display, but Ellen can’t help but think that she could probably take out most of these creatures with a tank and a gun… or a fine iron mist, or iron in their water supply. Ellen shakes herself slightly; when did her thoughts become so violent?

They reach the bottom of the hill, and the camp goes silent for several seconds. Two centaurs step forward and blow on golden horns, and the nearest and largest tent draws open. Ellen should focus on her emerging friends, she knows that she should, but instead, her gaze is hopelessly caught on the figure of the Summer Queen.

Aislyn is _beautiful_. Ellen should have expected that after her time with the Winter Queen, but she senses that there’s no good way to prepare for exposure to this kind of beauty. The Summer Queen is tall and regal. Her skin is bronzed, her form strong and yet lithe, and her hair long and silken. Looking into her eyes makes Ellen feel like she’s free-falling through space. Her teeth are as sharp as those of her lion guards and no less predatory.

“So you are the final human child,” Aislyn purrs, and the sound reverberates through Ellen’s body.

“Yes ma’am,” Ellen manages. Aislyn’s eyes flicker to the other three humans, and Ellen’s gaze automatically follows. Lydia kneels closest to the Summer Queen, adoration clear on her face. To the Queen’s left, yet with more distance between them, is David. His head is bowed in reverence. Beside him is Ethan, and it shocks away some of the haze in Ellen’s mind to notice the struggle evident on his face. It makes part of her want to hide from the shame of her own quick surrender… but she _didn’t_ quickly surrender, she reminds herself. Even the Winter Queen acknowledged how long she fought, and she has no intentions of giving in to the Summer Queen at all.

“You have the look of a fool,” Aislyn says pleasantly. Ellen grits her teeth as the members of the Summer Court titter behind their Mistress. The Winter Queen merely releases an irritated sigh.

“Are you done ignoring me, Aislyn?”

Aislyn finally meets the other Queen’s eyes. “Pardon me.” Her voice is exaggerated and dripping with scorn. “You were so silent, I had not noticed you there!”

“You are well aware that the responsibility was on you to greet Me with My proper title.”

“Is that so? I seem to have forgotten. Perhaps I was distracted by the human child you stole.”

“The Prophecy did not promise her to you. She came willingly.”

“You tricked her into submitting when she was at her most vulnerable—”

Ellen laughs before she can stop herself. She slaps her hand over her mouth, but the damage is already done. Aislyn had given her only a cursory glance before, mostly for show. Now all eyes pin Ellen in place.

The Winter Queen looks away first, gleeful. “Even the humans know that you are a pathetic hypocrite!”

Aislyn scowls. Her glare feels like it’s burning into Ellen, but Ellen’s nerves are instantly calmed when the Winter Queen’s hand settles on her shoulder. Aislyn manages to scowl harder.

 “You will return her to Me.”

“She never was and never will be yours.”

“You think to challenge the Prophecy?”

“She came to Me willingly.” The Winter Queen’s repetition is slow and deliberate. “She swore her service to Me, and she promised Me the others as well.”

“They were not hers to give!”

“But they are Mine to take. The Prophecy cannot be applied. The girl has already begun her service to Me.”

The enforced calm prevents Ellen from flinching again. It doesn’t prevent the watching fauns from muttering curses at her. Lydia doesn’t react at all. Ellen wonders if Aislyn is simply waiting for the worst opportunity to inform Lydia that Ellen contributed to Tumnus’s murder or if Lydia is already too far gone to care.

Ellen needs to get her cousin back, and she needs to get them out of here _now_. There’s no telling how much damage has already been done to them both.

 _Too much_ , her brain whispers.

Aislyn’s teeth are too sharp and too cruel as she purrs, “and the others, to Me. It appears that neither of Us can get what We want, Leahthael … although in terms of numbers, I clearly have the upper hand.”

Ellen feels the Winter Queen’s fingers twitch.

“Overconfident as always, I see. Perhaps the discussion of Our true assets should be had in private?”

Aislyn eyes the Winter Queen suspiciously for a moment but then nods. “Leave Us,” she commands her guards as she leads the Winter Queen back towards the camp’s most extravagant tent. It’s only once both have disappeared that it occurs to Ellen to wonder what she’s meant to do in their absence. The idea of attempting to get to know the Winter Queen’s servants barely enters her mind before she resoundingly dismisses it. She wants to approach her cousin, but the fear that it’s no longer truly her cousin behind those worship-filled eyes overwhelms her. Instead, she makes herself look at Ethan. His eyes find hers immediately, and she’s relieved to see signs of the churning mind behind them.

“So,” he finally manages to say with a short, pained laugh. “The Winter Queen, huh? How’s she been treating you?”

Ellen hesitates. “Probably about as well as the Summer Queen has been treating you,” she finally admits. “Maybe a little more… transparent about some things? I… there’s a lot I can’t say here.”

Ethan looks around them, grimaces, and nods. Then, abruptly, he asks, “do you remember that time that David brought all of his Christian buddies back to the dorm, and that jerk Stephen kept hitting on you even while trying to convert you?”

“Yeah?” Ellen bits back the urge to add _‘what about it?’_ and instead says: “That was fall semester of our freshman year, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. And David, he could be a real jerk back then himself. It took a long time for him to acknowledge that Stephen was being a creep because in his mind, Stephen was a good Christian kid, and they didn’t do things like that.”

“I remember,” Ellen says. She’s starting to see where this is going, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

“He was devastated when he realized that people who professed to believe the same things as him could be awful people underneath it all. I think he must have known it in theory, but it’s different seeing it in practice. He got so suspicious of everyone for a long time after that, but he never lost his faith. He always believed that God or Jesus or whoever would help him through and that even if something went wrong, it was all part of some greater plan.”

Ellen stays silent, forcing herself not to look at Lydia. She’s sure that Ethan wants to talk about faith, evil, and how none of them could have ever planned for this, maybe even about how David seems to have oriented towards a new God in the course of a few hours (days?). All that she can think about is how Lydia always claimed to be a caring person with dreams and goals for her time on Earth and yet how quick she was in damning all of them. Try as she might, Ellen can’t bring herself to blame this on the Fair Folk or cursed food anymore. Lydia knew what she was getting into from the moment that she stepped foot into Faeryland. She knew, and yet…

Ethan doesn’t resume talking. Part of Ellen is grateful that he’s trying to respect her obvious pain, but part of her is afraid that he needs to keep talking, that if he doesn’t have an external focus, he’ll be lost to whatever internal pull has the other two looking like blissed out zombies.

Ellen mentally revises her prior statement. As cruel as the Winter Queen has been, Ellen prefers the open cruelty to _that_. Ellen will gladly suffer through whatever the Winter Queen demands from her so long as she retains the ability to _suffer_ through it. The thought of having attacked Tumnus with the same blank, adoring servitude she sees on her cousin’s face chills her to the bone. She’s sure now that Lydia wouldn’t care what she’s done. In her place, Lydia would have eagerly done the same.

Between Ellen’s stress and the unending heat, Ellen is close to collapsing by the time that the tent finally draws open again. To her surprise, the Winter Queen spares not a single glance in her direction as she calls her other servants to her. Ellen hesitates, unsure if she’s meant to follow without question or openly beg for a place beside the Queen. Thankfully – or perhaps not so – the Summer Queen resolves the dilemma for her.

“You are to spend the night with Us,” Aislyn says, gesturing vaguely in Ellen’s direction. The Winter Queen doesn’t pause in any way to challenge or confirm that statement, so Ellen has no choice but to nod her acknowledgement. The Summer Queen disappears back into her tent a moment later, likely to discuss strategy with her advisers, and Ellen is again left unsure what exactly she’s meant to be doing.

“Come,” a dryad tells her, leading her by the elbow to a small tent near the center of the camp. There, Ellen is presented with new robes in much brighter, earthier tones, and her hair is washed, combed, and forced into waves. Normally one to ignore any beauty routines more strenuous than basic skincare, Ellen bares it all silently. She doesn’t know what they want to present her for, and she’s not sure that she wants to find out.

The answer, at the least, can’t be dinner, which passes without much affair. Ellen, to her great relief, is given only plain bread and watery broth. It doesn’t tempt her in the slightest, a fact that she never dreamed could be such a blessing. She tries not to think about what the others might be eating or the effect that it might be having on Ethan especially. She sees them that night, when all of the creatures come out to sing and dance, but she can’t make any sense of what she sees. If Ethan looks more dazed than before, it’s nothing noteworthy; so does she. The music lingers in her head long after she’s retired for bed.

As for Lydia, she slips into the tent soon after Ellen does. She says nothing to Ellen, and Ellen says nothing in return. This close to her cousin and with nothing else to distract them, she sees that there’s something besides adoration in Lydia’s eyes, but what that something is, Ellen couldn’t say. It deeply unnerves her which, in turn, wracks her with guilt. This is _Lydia_. She’s known her since before she could walk, yet all that Ellen can see when she looks at her is a complete stranger.

The confusion, guilt, and unease plague Ellen for what feels like hours. It’s a relief when sleep finally overcomes her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, a scene has been skipped here; the ritual murder and revival of the Summer Queen is unnecessary for understanding the progression of the story.

Ellen wakes up alone to the sound of a raging battle. Her first instinct is get far, far away. Her second is to try to grab her cousin, David, and Ethan so that she can take them far, far away with her. Her third is to avoid angering the Winter Queen, and the realization crashes over Ellen like a bucket of ice water; part of her deal with the Queen was that one of them could be recruited for up to a week for service in the war. Is Ellen still bound to that? It seems doubtful that the Winter Queen has jurisdiction over Lydia to make any promises about her release. Can she claim that she already released Lydia and that that’s how the Summer Queen was able to obtain her? Is Ellen bound to the terms of the deal to guarantee her _own_ safe release?

Ellen drags herself to her feet. It’s likely that at least one servant of the Winter Queen is keeping an eye on or guarding her, and Ellen can likely learn from them what’s expected of her. Thankfully, at least, that answer doesn’t seem to be anything that requires her to remain nude. There’s an outfit laid out in the corner of the tent, a sensible outfit fit for fighting. Beside it is the spear the Winter Queen gave her. _Fuck_.

 _Maybe I can offer to tend to the wounded_ , Ellen tells herself, but she has to admit that she’s likely useless compared to magical healers, and it’s not as if she knows anything about fae anatomy anyway. But then, it’s not like she knows how to fight either!

The Winter Queen promised that none of them would lose their life in battle, and all of them would return to Earth fully human. Ellen supposes that she just has to put her faith in that deal and try not to think about the fact that “alive” and “fully human” says nothing about “with all limbs still intact” or “without creeping sepsis.” Ellen’s heart pounds all the way through getting dressed and peeking her head out of the tent. There’s a pitcher of cold water left waiting immediately outside, and drinking from it helps a little. It provides a welcomed shock to Ellen’s system that reminds her that she _is_ still human, and, accordingly, still has very human needs. She looks around, wondering who – _what_ – is safest to approach about the issue of food. As useless as she’d normally be in battle, she can only be worse if she’s afflicted with hunger.

 However, the only creature anywhere near her, yet another wolf, begins to leave the moment it sees that Ellen is awake. Seeing no other choice, Ellen darts to follow it. The clamor of the battle increases with every passing second until Ellen finds herself in thick of it. To her amazement, she’s ignored by both sides and allowed to pass through unharmed. She presses deeper into the fray until, finally, she reaches where the Queens are locked in combat.

In its own way, the sight is one of beauty. The two seem almost to be dancing as they step swiftly around each other, swords flashing. Their suits of armor reflect sunlight, contributing to the dazzling display. Neither hesitates nor slows regardless of what occurs around them or how long their fight drags on. The only change occurs as the Winter Queen gains the advantage and pushes Aislyn steadily back. Eventually, she forces the Summer Queen’s sword from her hands.

The Queen of Winter strikes, and the end of her sword stops a perfect centimeter out from the Queen of Summer’s throat. It pokes into Aislyn’s flesh when she swallows, drawing a thin line of blood. To Ellen’s surprise, both Queens smile.

“Alright, alright,” Aislyn laughs. “You’re free to complete your end of the bargain with the mortal without my interference.”

 

They stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder, Ellen next to Ethan on one end and Lydia next to David on the other. The fae Queens stand in front of them, eyeing them dispassionately.

The Winter Queen hums. “I suppose I should see you back to your world now?” Her smile screams that this won’t be the last that they see of her, but Ellen desperately tries to ignore that.

No one else speaks, so Ellen takes in on herself to respond. “If You would be so kind.”

The Winter Queen’s smile turns sharper. The Summer Queen murmurs, “I do see why you like this one.” Her tone suggests that she, too, expects to see all of them returned very soon and has accepted that it will be the Winter Queen that Ellen will serve. Ellen tries to force down her growing panic.

 _We’re almost home_ , she tells herself. _This nightmare is almost over_.

She doesn’t truly believe it. Even if they are returned home, she’s unsure if anyone so strongly touched by the fair folk could ever hope to have a normal life again.

They walk back to the hawthorns in silence. With the Winter Queen’s reign of this land fully cemented, the area surrounding the portal between worlds remains as frozen as ever. It seems to be a foreboding sign.

The silence is getting to Ellen, but she doesn’t feel prepared to break it. Instead, she forces herself to bow to the Winter Queen before she turns to face the portal. Her head is swimming slightly, warning her that she may have perhaps just made a very large mistake. She ignores it; her worst mistake was in coming here, and she knows now that she could have done little, if anything at all, to change the course of what has happened since.

Ellen steps back through the portal. A moment later, Ethan follows. David is next, and then, finally, Lydia. Ellen releases a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at the sight of her cousin standing back in the familiar forest outside of their apartment. She ignores how neither her cousin nor the forest is as familiar as they were before. Winter has settled across the trees, blanketing the ground with soft snow. It’s created an almost picturesque scene that contributes to the surreal aura that Ellen can’t seem to shake.

The trek back to their apartment is silent. The sense of foreboding grows. Ellen can’t manage to find it in herself to be surprised when the apartment that they return to isn’t the one that they left.

“This can’t be right!” Ethan finally bursts out, voice wracked with panic. “Did they return us to the right place?”

“The Winter Queen kept her side of the deal,” Lydia responds coldly. Ellen flinches. Her voice sounds so alien, more prosodic than should be possible from a human mouth. Ethan turns on her, eyes wild.

“What deal!”

Lydia turns to Ellen. Ellen swallows heavily. “I—She—She said that if I made a sincere effort to bring you to Her, She’d ensure our safe return to earth.”

The betrayal on Ethan’s face pierces through her. When he next speaks, his voice holds a hollow, broken quality. “You made a deal with the winter queen?”

“You might be overestimating the amount of agency I actually had at the time,” Ellen admits, closing her eyes against the disapproving expression of her cousin. “I’d just stumbled into a foreign world, I was literally on the verge of freezing to death, I’d already accidentally told Her my name, and She offered me berries.” Ellen shrugs helplessly and then quickly moves to wipe a cold tear from her face. She chances a glance at Ethan and isn’t sure if she’s relieved or pained to see how resigned he looks.

“What exactly was the deal? Our safe return to earth. Did she say _where_ or _when_?”

Ellen winces. “She said that She might ask one of us to fight for Her for no longer than a week. I—I was _stupid_. It didn’t occur to me that a week there could be any amount of time here.”

Ethan turns to Lydia, expression crumbling. “How long has it been?”

“Five years,” Lydia answers in the same cold, detached, vaguely amused tone. “We were replaced by stock. The police ruled that we were killed in our sleep by a gas leak.”

Ellen wants to be horrified, she really does. She realizes that she must sound as resigned as Ethan does when she asks “How do you know this?”

Lydia smiles, revealing needle sharp teeth. “The portal is still open. Aislyn is expecting us.”

“No!” Ethan bursts out. “No, I refuse!”

Lydia shrugs, a fluid, careless motion. “Suit yourself.” She turns with no further discussion and begins to walk.

David smiles at Ethan with an expression of something approaching pity. The hint of teeth between his barely parted lips reveals nothing abnormally sharp, but Ellen shudders at the feral look in his eyes. “I do wish that things had turned out better for you. She might take pity on you if you return now.”

“No,” Ethan repeats, and David, too, wastes no more time in leaving. Ellen almost wonders at that, at why neither pressed her about her choice, but she knows deep in her bones that it’s because in their minds, she’s already aligned herself with their enemy.

Ellen and Ethan stand together until snow begins to settle on their exposed forms. Both of them shiver and take on a vaguely blue sheen.

“You’re not like them,” Ethan reflects, sounding as if he wishes that statement could have even a hint of hope in it.

Ellen shakes her head in frustration. “I don’t understand! The Queen promised that we’d be returned _human_ , but…”

“A human enthralled by the fair folk is probably human enough in her mind,” Ethan points out. “What were her exact words?”

“I wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to memorize them.”

“Are you sure she ever meant to refer to all of us anyway?”

That one question chills Ellen’s blood more than the snow ever could. “What do you mean?”

“Did she say that all of us would be safely returned as humans?”

“She said that all of us would be safely returned,” Ellen repeats. “God _damn_ it!”

She still doesn’t remember the Queen’s exact words, not really, but she has a sudden conviction that the Queen might have used a very singular “you” when referring to Ellen retaining her humanity.

Ethan breaks her out of her guilty mourning. “What will you do?”

“Return and beg for forgiveness for trying to leave, I guess. What choice do I have?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ethan’s shock and frustration sends another metaphorical arrow through Ellen’s heart. He shakes his head, and it’s clear that he’s given up on her. “Fine. I wish you the best of luck, I really do.”

“What will you do?” Ellen challenges, trying to hide her hurt.

“Me? I’ll figure something out. Won’t be the first person in America to struggle to make it with no home or identity in the middle of winter, won’t be the last.”

“Most _don’t_ make it.”

“I’m better educated and healthier than most. If all else fails, I can walk myself to a hospital and admit that I’m missing years of memory and have delusions of being Ethan Walker, send them into an uproar. I’ll be a DNA match with my parents and younger sister. Maybe they’ll think I was in a coma this whole time. You could do the same.”

He has a point, Ellen realizes, and yet…

“I don’t think that I actually can.”

“Bullshit,” he tells her bluntly. “You don’t need to resign yourself to a life of servitude just because you feel guilty about having been manipulated into dragging David and I into your stupid scheme to rescue your cousin.”

Ellen stares at him, speechless. He meets her gaze evenly, and Ellen realizes how he managed to survive the Summer Queen’s influence.

“You’ll do well,” she tells him. Something manages to break in his expression, as if he hasn’t already broken enough, but he nods to her.

“Best of luck, Ellen.”

“Same to you.”

They part ways. At the tree line, Ellen turns to watch Ethan. He’s headed towards the center of campus, likely to report his sudden revival to the police. For a crazy moment, Ellen considers running after him and joining him. They’d be a bizarre medical mystery that would send conspiracy theorists wild for years to come, and still, no one would guess the truth of their reappearance. Even one reappearance is news enough.

Her family will spend months living with torturous hope, Ellen realizes. How often will they check the news, praying to see that she or Lydia have been the next to wake up? Will they decide that the original bodies were somehow fakes and that their loved ones are still out there somewhere, maybe kidnapped by a madman? If only they knew…

Ellen turns away. Ethan’s words haunt her, but they don’t matter. Ellen can’t bring Lydia back to her family. She knows this now. It’s better to keep the break as clean as possible. Better for them to have their hopes permanently dashed than for Ellen to return to them alone, an indirect murderer.

For the rest of Ellen’s walk back to the hawthorns, she keeps her gaze steadily forward.

The Winter Queen has already left by the time that Ellen reaches the other side, but one of her wolf guards is waiting for her. Ellen follows it back to the castle in silence. At least this time, the wolf is willing to give Ellen breaks to rest. The walk is long, and Ellen’s emotional fortitude has worn precariously thin.

When Ellen faces the Queen in her opulent throne room this second time, she’s able to remain standing. She has the sense to bow, of course, but Ellen is tired of being reduced to the point of kneeling. To her relief, the Queen seems to view this as another source of amusement rather than an insult.

“I’ve come to offer my service,” Ellen says when the silence has stretched on for longer than her mortal mind can handle.

As always, the Queen’s smile is sharp and tinted with mockery. “What can you offer?”

The moment of truth. Ellen tries to hide her grimace. “What would You have of me? I can’t fight. If at all possible, I would prefer not to be used as… as a broodstock or made into a mindless thrall.”

“That leaves a rather limited number of options,” the Winter Queen observes. Ellen nods and holds her breath.

“What about bait?”

“Bait? I... I’m not sure what you’re asking of me.”

“I could say that you failed your obligation to bring your friends to Me, and this is your punishment. Or I could be more charitable and acknowledge that you are one of the few humans that I can trust to operate independently in the human world without risk of insanity.”

 _Bait_. Used to draw more humans into the fae world for god only knows what purposes…

Ellen realizes that regardless of how human her body was she was when she was returned to the mortal world, it was foolish of her to ever expect that her mind would remain untouched. Lord help her, but—

She accepts.


	6. Epilogue

_“She’s here!” Brandy gasps in delight and pulls Sam behind a pillar so that they’re better hidden from the crowd._

_Sam peeks around, searching the party for the source of her friend’s excitement. “Where?”_

_“With my intro chemistry professor. There, by the drinks table.” Brandy points. Sam follows her direction and immediately understands how she knew._

_“_ Wow _,” she breathes. “She really is pretty.”_

_“I told you! And brilliant too. She’s one of the most talented medical researchers of our time.”_

_“And you’re going to ask her to let you learn under her? Won’t you be competing against half the premeds?”_

_“Probably,” Brandy admits, “but I have to try. I can’t believe she’s transferring to Emory! That’s so exciting.”_

_“Where is she from?”_

_“I’m not sure, now that you mention it. Everyone talks about her time at John Hopkins, but I don’t think I ever heard where she got her degree.” Sam turns back to see a slight frown on her friend’s face. Then the frown clears, and Brandy shrugs. “Maybe she’s foreign and doesn’t like to talk about her native country. Does it matter?”_

_“Not really. Though if she’s from another country, I’d like to know where. Damn, Brandy, can you imagine a village of people like her?”_

_Brandy laughs. “Ugh, Sam, way to focus on the least important thing here!”_

_“I’m just saying!” Sam holds her hands up defensively. “Can you blame me? Besides, isn’t that the rumor? That she often shows up to events with women just as gorgeous as she is?”_

_“Yeah, yeah.” Brandy waves the suggestions away. “Listen, will you come with me? I want to talk to her, but I need the moral support.”_

_“Me?” Suddenly, Sam’s heart is pounding, and her mouth has gone dry. “Wait a second. What good will I do? Do you just want someone lame next to you to make yourself look better?”_

_Brandy rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Sam….”_

_“I’m serious! I’m not even a STEM major. I_ write _, Brandy!”_

_“Yeah, and? I bet she’d love to hear one of your stories. Jessica was telling me how she met Dr. Carter when she visited John Hopkins for an interview. Apparently she’s an incredible storyteller. She had the entire party transfixed by a tale she told about a woman knight on a quest to rescue her stolen cousin from the fair folk. Jessica said it was the only time she’s ever seen STEM professors so focused on something artistic for that long.”_

_“Are you serious? Gorgeous, brilliant,_ and _a master storyteller?”_

_“Don’t you go getting a crush on my hopefully-future lab director!” Brandy laughs in a way that makes it clear that she knows it’s far too late for that. Sam’s cheeks are red as she follows her friend to where the professors are chatting._

_The chemistry professor, Dr. Mason, certainly seems transfixed by whatever Dr. Carter is saying. Her wine glass is held so loosely in her fingers that Sam is almost afraid of the professor dropping it. In contrast, Dr. Carter’s eyes are alert, lively, and shining with a clever light. She holds nothing, and Sam remembers the rumors that she must have some kind of dietary restriction; she almost never eats food that she hasn’t brought herself. Or maybe it’s that no one else’s cooking can compare to that of whoever she’s hired to cook for her. (It_ can’t _be herself. There is no fucking way one woman could be_ that _talented in_ that _many areas!) Apparently, everyone who’s tried her food has never stopped raving about it, even years later. God, this woman is so perfect._

_Sam fights a losing battle to force the blush off of her cheeks as she and Brandy reach their destination. She realizes how hopelessly she’s lost when Dr. Carter’s eyes find hers first, and the detached amusement within them grows. Brandy says something, Dr. Carter replies, and a conversation emerges from there. Sam processes none of it, save that Dr. Carter’s voice is musical and gives Sam the weirdest yearning to see this mysterious home of hers._

_Eventually, the conversation finishes, and Sam finds herself following Brandy away. Brandy resumes talking, something about how well the conversation with Dr. Carter went and her hopes that this will improve her chances of working under the renowned academic. Sam is vaguely aware that she’s responding to Brandy in what must be the right way because Brandy doesn’t notice how Sam is still struggling to grasp some semblance of normalcy. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. She’s had crushes before, even ones intensely colored by physical longing, but nothing has ever come close to affecting her like this._

_Finally, at the door, Sam pauses. “Hey, Brandy? I’ll see you in class Monday, okay? I think I left my coat.”_

_She didn’t realize that was the case until she said it, but Brandy nods. “Yeah, of course! See ya.”_

_Sam watches Brandy leave and then turns back to the rented ballroom. She expects to have to search all over for her winter coat, but, to her surprise, her feet seem to have their own plans. Before she knows it, she’s half stumbling into a small side room. It’s already occupied by none other than the esteemed professor herself._

_“Dr. Carter! I’m sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I was just… my coat, I seem to have lost it…”_

_Smiling, Dr. Carter holds out the object in question. “I noticed that you forgot to take it with you after you shed it during our conversation. I was just trying to figure out how to get it back to you.”_

_“I—Thank you so much!”_

_Dr. Carter laughs, a sound that stuns Sam. The woman’s laughter is even more musical than her voice, yet Sam can hardly claim to be less pleased with the latter when Dr. Carter murmurs, “Of course. We wouldn’t want you to freeze, would we?” She smiles as if at some private joke and then adds: “And please, call me Ellen.”_

_Sam stutters out another thank you, makes an excuse to leave, and bolts. Finally, in the safety of her own car, she relaxes and clutches the coat close to her heart._

_She has the feeling that she’ll be seeing Ellen again soon._


End file.
